


Dream a Little Dream of Me

by kdeutsch80



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fluff, confessions under anesthesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-30
Updated: 2015-04-30
Packaged: 2018-03-26 10:30:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3847561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kdeutsch80/pseuds/kdeutsch80
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Katniss reveals her true feelings to the angel visiting her post-surgery</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dream a Little Dream of Me

My hand hesitates, my knuckle just inches from the wooden surface. I can’t believe I’m doing this. Of all the days for Madge to forget an appointment, it had to be today.

The aggravation I’m trying to keep inside betrays me when I knock a little too heavily on his door.

I’ve just about made up my mind to turn around and head back to my apartment when I hear the chain slide against the lock.

I feel the flush rising in my cheeks when the door opens to reveal startling blue eyes, hazy with sleep and a tangled mess of blonde curls partially obscuring them.

“Katniss,” Peeta questions. “It’s 6:30 in the morning.”

My irritation from earlier works it’s way back to the surface and I remember why I’m standing in front of Peeta’s apartment door.

“I know, I’m sorry. I wouldn’t be here if I had any other options at the moment,” I start. “Madge was supposed to be driving me to my surgery appointment this morning but she’s still at Gale’s.”

Peeta tries to rub the sleep from his eyes and leans against the doorframe, yawning.

“Let me guess, she got,” he uses his hands to make air quotes, “distracted.”

A small bit of bile threatens to rise to my mouth when I think about how much Gale has been distracting her lately. And how I always end up having to hear about it.

“Of course she did,” I sigh.

Peeta snorts lightly in amusement. “Let me change and I can take you.”

He opens the door wider and steps to the side to allow me in. I make my way to the couch and throw myself down on it.

“Help yourself to some coffee if you want,” he yells out from the bedroom.

I think about how appropriate it would be to have a drink that matches the bitterness I feel at the moment. But my pre-surgery instructions explicitly banned anything to eat or drink beforehand.

Turning towards the bedroom to decline his offer, my words fall silent. He’s left the door open to both his bedroom and the bathroom. The full-length mirror on the bathroom door gives me a clear reflection of Peeta’s toned back.

Mesmerized, I watch the muscles flex and retreat as he reaches up to pull the t-shirt over his head. His pajama pants pull up slightly, defining the curved roundness of his ass.

I lick my lips as he turns around. His attention is elsewhere and I’m not sure that he would even know I was watching him anyway. As his hands skim the shirt down over his chest, the morning sun coming in from his window catches the fine, downy blonde hairs trailing down his stomach and disappearing beneath the waistband of his pants.

An audible groan escapes my lips and it’s enough to bring me back to my senses.

Shaking my head, I turn back towards the front door, trying to regain my composure.

This isn’t the first time that I’ve noticed his chiseled good looks, broad shoulders and sexual appeal. It’s not the first time I’ve noticed the effect that he has on me.

And I hate myself for it. Because I hate him.

His perpetual cheeriness, his undying positivity, they way he practically bounces with happiness when he walks. Nobody should be that goddamn cheerful. It’s not natural. 

By the time Peeta walks back into the living room, a scowl has settled back onto my face.

“Ok, I’m ready to drive Ms. Everdeen,” he quips.

I simply nod my head, get up from the couch and brush past him to the door. I try not to let the way he looks in his dark jeans, black t-shirt and red flannel shirt settle into my thoughts.

XXX

After an almost silent ride to the outpatient surgery center, Peeta insists on escorting me inside.

I roll my eyes when he tells me that it’s the gentlemanly thing to do. It must also be the gentlemanly thing to do when he lets Delly cheat at cards and win when her and Madge invite him over for poker night every week.

Signing in at the reception desk, the woman sitting it behind it looks at my name and grabs my file.

“Katniss Everdeen,” she asks robotically.

“Yes,” I reply.

“Here for Endoscopic Nasal Surgery with Dr. Beetee?”

“Yes,” I reply again.

Looking up from the papers, she points her pen in Peeta’s direction. “He your ride home today?”

“No,” I jump. “No, he’s just dropping me off.”

“Well then do you have someone else that will be staying here while you’re in surgery?”

I shake my head no.

“Sweetheart,” the woman says, “you gotta have someone stay here with you and then take you home. Otherwise, we can’t do the surgery.”

“But,” I sputter. “My roommate will be here in an hour. Can’t we just start without her? She’ll be here eventually.”

“Sorry, sweetheart, but rules are rules-“

“I’ll stay,” Peeta interrupts her. “I’ll stay and then drive her home when she’s done.”

Peeta shoots me a smile that could melt an iceberg. I narrow my eyes and scowl back at him.

“Fine,” I snap.

The receptionist smiles and goes back to checking things off on my paperwork. She finishes and directs me over to the waiting area.

“The nurse’ll be out shortly to get you. Make sure that you take in your button up shirt with you. You won’t be able to wear the one you’ve got on now afterwards.”

Shit. In my rush out of the apartment this morning, I forgot to grab my other shirt.

Peeta must sense my annoyance because he leans down and whispers in my ear, “I’ll lend you mine. Let’s just sit down.”

I shoot another scowl in his direction. This is exactly what I mean. He’s so unflappable. It just isn’t right.

XXX

A half hour later and I’m lying back on the operating table. A nurse positions a mask over my head and tells me to count back from ten.

I’m out before I get to eight.

XXX

The blackness shrouds me and a fuzzy silence hums in my ear. A discomfort settles on my face around my nose and mouth.

Something is suffocating me but I don’t struggle for breath. My thoughts are murky and I try to decide if I should give in to the darkness.

Raising my arm, I reach for my face. Weighed down by something, my arm thuds down to my chest as my hand grazes something smooth.

I give in to the dark.

XXX

The fuzzy silence begins to grow in my ear again. A word here and there starts to swim through to the surface.

I find my eyelids too heavy to lift. Whatever was suffocating me before is still there. Why am I still breathing?

Another weak attempt to reach the smotherer falls short again. A few seconds later, I feel the item peel away from my skin and pull downwards.

The sensation forces my eyes open for a brief second. All that registers is a cherub with golden curls and a halo of white light surrounding it. It hovers over me and I catch it’s soothing words, “It’s gone now, just rest.”

So this must be what it means to die. An angel tending to you as you become adjusted to your newfound state. I want to feel something, joy for finally being free or mournful for having left the very few people that I still loved behind. But all I can feel is the exhaustion that weighs my eyelids down.

Peeta. I realize that he’s in that circle of people that I’m certain I love. And now it’s too late for me to tell him.

“What about him,” asks the angel, the voice sounding miles away and fighting to get through the fog swirling in my head. So angels can read your thoughts too, I think.

I struggle to remember what it was I was thinking about Peeta. “’S pretty,” I slur.

The angel chuckles and the sound is so heavenly that I wish I could open my eyes long enough to see the sight.

“Mmm, so pretty.”

“What else,” the angel presses.

I smack my lips, trying to get the cotton feeling in my mouth to dissipate. The act brings a vision to the forefront of my mind. A vision of Peeta’s full lips, plump and pressed close. Peeta’s lips quirked up in a smile.

Oh, his smile. The way it filled his face, his cheeks bunched up and joy and mirth flickering in his eyes. And those impossibly long golden lashes that brushed along the underside of his eyes when he would close them.

The genuine warmth that seemed to roll off of him like it did off the ovens he worked in front of all day. The scent of cinnamon and dill that was always present, no matter what he had baked that day.

How a feeling would settle in my belly at the sight of his arms in his Mellark bakery t-shirt. How I longed to trace that line of hair down his chest and stomach. The way I wanted to feel his rough, calloused baker hands pressed hot against my flesh.

As the visions of Peeta become clearer, I tell them to the angel; the darkness beginning to shrink away. My thoughts gathered more quickly and the mournful feeling I had been looking for earlier began to settle in my chest.

I had left without saying goodbye. Prim, Madge, Delly; they would all grieve for me but they would find comfort in remembering that I had loved them. But Peeta would never have that. I had left without ever letting him know that I was anything but annoyed and standoffish with him.

Regret settled into the back of my throat, a bitter pill to swallow.

“Need to go back,” I choke out.

“Go back where,” the angel questioned again.

“Peeta,” I choke out again. “Love him. Didn’t tell him.”

“Shhh,” the angel consoles, it’s hand brushing the hair back on my forehead.

The memories, the mourning, the regret have all combined to sap whatever progress I had made in my acclimation to the afterlife.

As I give back in to the darkness, a second voice registers in the encroaching noise. “She should be up for good the next time around.” 

XXX

Through my closed eyelids, I can sense the morning sun shining into my room. It wakes me from the first restless night’s sleep I’ve had in forever. Sleep that wasn’t plagued by recurring nightmares of rats and death, but dreams of life and love with Peeta.

I smile as I stretch my toes, reveling in the delicious feeling that the dreams have left in their wake.

Rolling my head to the side, I blink my eyes open. I take in Peeta’s dozing form, his head slumped on the bed next to me, his fingers wrapped around my hand.

It’s then that I also register the quiet and steady beeping of machines and the low voices travelling throughout the room. For a brief moment I panic, unaware of where I am.

Peeta must sense it and jolts awake.

Just as he moves to stand up, I remember where I am. I can feel the packing in my nose and the light throbbing in my face.

“Hey, how ya feelin,” Peeta asks.

He rises and moves to stand over me. His face smiles down at me and as he leans in a little closer, the sterile white lights blur around him, giving him the ethereal look of a cherubic angel.

Suddenly, the memory of a conversation with another angel rushes in. My body goes rigid as my eyes fly wide open. No, no, no, I think. Oh God, no. It was a dream, right? I didn’t really tell Peeta all those things.

I close my eyes for a second to regain my composure.

When I open them again, Peeta is still smiling at me.

“It’s okay, Katniss. I know now.”

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for Prompts in Panem, Round 7, Day 2. I'm showeringwithhutcherson on Tumblr, come visit me!


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